


accept yourself

by apocalypsedreams



Series: through hell and high tide [2]
Category: Stranger Things (TV 2016)
Genre: Coming of Age, Eleven-centric, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Growing Up, Hair, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Season/Series 01, and i love el with curly hair, basically i just had this idea based off the entertainment weekly shoot, but not a prediction of future seasons obviously, honestly what a concept
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-06-04
Updated: 2017-06-04
Packaged: 2018-11-09 02:43:30
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,974
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11095236
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/apocalypsedreams/pseuds/apocalypsedreams
Summary: "Amongst the tears and the ceaseless shaking, Mike felt her trembling lips curl into a half-smile amongst the sobs, and it wasn’t a dream anymore. She was home."Exploring the lives of Eleven and the boys through their turbulent teenage years, often expressed through the shenanigans of El's hair.





	accept yourself

**Author's Note:**

> so this is my new multi-chapter story! i hope you enjoy :)
> 
> for a prologue, read the first instalment of this series, 'these things take time'.

The year anniversary of Will’s disappearance struck like a deafening reminder of what they had endured. With the events replaying, rewinding and replaying again, Joyce lit another cigarette at the thought of waking up to find her son gone. Jonathan went for a longer drive than usual, blasting The Clash and passing through Mirkwood as if to check for certain there was nothing still lurking there amongst the trees. Nancy mourned the week that marked the loss of her best friend and flicked through pictures, fingers shivering with guilt. Hopper took his contemplation differently that morning, dwelling on bleak memories of that significant week over the station’s bitter black coffee. Even Karen thought back to the week which broke her children and changed them somehow, wondering if anything was ever heard of that girl with the shaven head who she was wrongly accused of hiding in her own basement.

For the boys, they decided a bittersweet sleepover should be planned on the night of the 6th to commemorate the occasion – and, in all honesty, to make sure Will was okay. He still had night terrors and looked paler since he had returned, but tried desperately not to let that break his spirit. That was the amazing thing about Will – his smile and optimism radiated through darkness, even though everyone worried about him. He worried, too – after all, it was clear he would likely be scarred for good.

As they all laid out their sleeping bags in the basement and the last joke had died down, Mike felt himself shivering inside; a pang of something he didn’t quite understand. For him, it had been a year of feeling both everything and nothing. Now he just wanted it all to stop, after months of feeling like a lifeless shell of himself. He thought himself selfish and pessimistic – especially since he hadn’t experienced anything direct like Will or Nancy had. He had almost lost one of his best friends, and he had lost a girl. A stranger, really, though she didn’t feel like one. Friends and family had tried desperately to revive him over the past year, but it had dawned on them now: none of them would ever be the same.

But that was in the past, and with a year of it behind them, they all tried with every strength to look forward; to see a future where all of this was just a spec in their memory. They all made it through November 6th 1984, just like they had made it through November 6th 1983, and went about their normal daily routines with their normal friends and family before sleeping in normal beds in their normal town – no matter how long it took in the soundless night. And they thought – just maybe – their lives could be normal, too.

In somewhere darker and colder, somewhere she had been marooned for almost an entire year, she raised her hand, channelling and concentrating her power, and screamed for the same. She screamed for them; screamed for Hawkins; screamed for normalcy. She screamed for home. Tears flooding her eyes, tainting her vision, she felt her power draining as fast as she was using it – but there was no way she would give up now. She couldn’t. Trying desperately to ignore the ringing in her head and the pain slicing through her entire body, and the blood now relentlessly flowing out of her nostrils and ears, she persisted. She screamed louder – so loud she wondered if Hawkins heard it. The gate was opening, slowly. She persisted, now sobbing for home. The need for home was incessant and as ceaseless as her ear-splitting cries. An upward shoot of pressure strangled her, before the last barrier was broken. She almost passed out there and then, but she couldn’t afford to now – there was always the possibility the gate would shrink up again, or she’d be taken by the monsters she had hidden from for almost twelve months. No doubt, the use of her powers had alerted them, so she dragged her legs tiredly through the cold, dying mulch of the Upside Down. She crawled through the gate, sobbing with exhaustion, hearing them behind her.

She felt a change, though it was still dark and cold. The air didn’t choke her anymore, and she tried desperately to get the oxygen through her body. She scuttled with shaking limbs through the forest until she tired out and collapsed, curled against a tree in the whirling woods, dreaming of home.

* * *

 

As Karen woke up and went about her morning, grumbling at the sight of Ted on the La-Z-Boy in the living room with Holly on her hip, putting her in her high chair and starting the breakfast – a double batch of blueberry pancakes for the 5 hungry teenagers, husband and toddler she’d have to feed – she pondered over how this day might go, doubting it would be anything out of her ordinary and mundane stay-at-home life.

A knock at the door pounded, so loud it sounded like someone was trying to burst their fist through the frame. She shot up and put her batter to the side, mind searching with possibilities of who could be up so early and for something so seemingly important. Her brows furrowed as she stepped into the hall. “Who is it?”

She was answered with another deafening knock, hammering ceaselessly and scaring her youngest child. Karen Wheeler was now annoyed, and shouted that she was coming as she sped up, unlocking the door, opening it to an absurd sight.

There, on her front lawn, stood a fragile, unclean young girl with a fraying blanket draped around her shoulders, shaking alongside a tense Jim Hopper.

She was speechless for a moment, stuttering, mind swirling with a whirlpool of questions. The girl looked familiar somehow, but she was almost blue with cold, face completely drained of all colour as Hopper had a tentative hand clasped around one of her bony shoulders. After a number of agonisingly long seconds, Karen started: “Chief Hopper, what is-”

“Something’s come up, Mrs Wheeler.” He interrupted her, face grave and tone gravelled, though something behind his eyes gleamed with a forgotten hope. “Joyce is on her way. Do you remember the week of November 7th, last year?”

That was all it took for her to connect the dots, as she wracked her brain and matched the quaking, sick girl with the black-and-white picture she was presented with on her dining room table last year. Her eyes grew wide and dazed as she remained frozen in her place, wanting to take a closer look to confirm her beliefs, but at the same time afraid of what the Chief wanted from her with some sort of government business.

Hopper swallowed as El remained silent, her lip quivering and bloodshot hazel eyes sharp. “Get the boys.”

Mike was woken up abruptly by his mother opening the door of the basement. He was groggy and slipping in and out of consciousness, grumbling as she frantically shouted for him from a few feet away. He rubbed his freckled face sleepily and threw his pillow over his head at the light flooding in from upstairs. “Mom… it isn’t time yet…” He whined, knowing he hadn’t slept nearly enough last night to survive a full day of school.

His mother looked down, trembling and confused, and her tone became quieter. “Michael, I need you to come upstairs right now.” She then mirrored the chief’s words in worry for her son, speaking to him as if it was a year ago and she had just found him on the back of an ambulance covered in a blanket. “ _Something’s come up.”_

The shift in tone startled him, as he moved the pillow from his face and grew awfully still. He squinted, and gulped roughly. “Wh… what is it?”

Karen frowned, lip twitching upwards in confusion, not knowing what to tell her son. “I think you’d better come up and see.” She murmured, and that voice was all Mike needed before he was trudging groggily up the stairs.

He turned into the kitchen, trailing behind his mother. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, except the blueberry pancake batter on the counter-top. Pancakes were usually reserved for the end of the week, and today was Wednesday. What could his mother possibly want?  Mike rubbed his eyes of sleep as she continued to storm into the hallway, cursing and turning the corner himself and blinking back into clear vision, squinting at the open door flooding bright, low sunlight into his house. He froze at the figures staring back at him, blackened against the overpowering sun.

His inky eyes diluted, mouth agape slightly as he almost choked and stopped breathing all together, his heart pounding and palpitating and his brain – usually quick and clever – struggling to process all that was before him. His mouth was dry. His drumming fingers stilled. And, all of a sudden, Mike Wheeler was very much awake and alive and able to see and hear and was trying desperately to be able to breathe as well. His mind swirled and pounded along with his relentless pulse. He was afraid to breathe; afraid to speak – as if he was speaking in a dream and would wake up if he uttered another word, or his breath would blow her away never to be seen again. But all of a sudden, Mike choked out a shaking breath he no longer had the energy to hold, dragging his bare feet slowly across the carpet as his eyes grew warm and watery.

The syllable came out as a hoarse whisper, afraid of reality and afraid of scaring her away. His throat bobbed as he sounded out her name like the first note of a song, the power of that single syllable resonating through his body. “…El?”

Her white lips trembled and her eyes filled up with tears, brows quivering along with her trembling body and her soft, pale face dirtied and crumpled in emotion. She let out a sudden uneven breath, as if hearing his voice again had released her somehow. She focused only on him and his raven-black hair dishevelled by sleep, his dark eyes diluted and wide, his skin paper-white, and his breathing shaky, drawn out and quiet. El squeezed her eyes shut, afraid that this was some hallucination and that when she opened her eyes, she would be back in that cold, lifeless dimension. As she blinked, tears caught on her eyelashes and slipped down her cheeks, making snail marks in the dirt and mud on her ivory skin. Her teeth gritted, then made way for another shaking breath as he took another slow step closer to her until they were only a metre away. Her response was choked out and desperate, tense and fearful after a year of nothingness. Her lips parted finally as she sniffed and whimpered. “M-Mike…”

The boy was afraid to step closer and scare her off as she noticeably trembled and shivered, sniffing violently with quivering sighs, threatening to make him cry as well – but he trod closer anyway, needing confirmation that this wasn’t another one of his dreams. And El wasn’t scared of him. She watched, eyes warming slowly to him as she blinked another tear down her face, and didn’t bother to wipe it away. The sight of those trails down her muddied cheeks glinting in the November morning made the urge to comfort her impossibly stronger, and he let out another shaky breath before closing the gap between them, softly taking Eleven in his arms and hugging her. She buried her head in his chest – not really paying attention to the dirt she was getting all over him, or the height difference that had occurred over a year of growth – and cried everything out, shaking as her hands slowly but surely wound around his body. Feeling her shake against him like that, letting go in his embrace and pouring out all of the pain she had dealt with over a year of being stuck God knows where, he felt his own composure crumbling, and was soon squeezing his eyes shut and muffling his own quiet cries in her shoulder.

They stayed like that for an inconceivable amount of time, ignoring his mother and Hopper, just holding each other and releasing the anguish and relief they both felt. Her breaths became sharp and involuntary in-between sobs, gasping for air against his pyjama shirt as if he was her oxygen supply. She felt herself reviving, and he did too. He couldn’t believe she was there, standing and holding him, frail and scarred, but there nonetheless. The way her breathing heated and fogged up his chest and her tears dampened his shirt sobered him from his stupor of feeling nothing for almost a year, and he held her tighter, suddenly terrified of letting go. She wouldn’t stop crying. He wanted to make her feel safe.

“It’s okay, El.” He lifted his head and spoke into her head shakily. He squeezed his eyes shut again, lip trembling. “You’re here now. You’re home.”

Something inside her clicked, and all of a sudden, Eleven knew there was no way she was hallucinating. Arms wrapped around Mike at last, breathing him in with her shuddering breaths, she was awake. El cried harder as it dawned on her that she had missed a whole year of this, and had finally returned to the only place she had ever felt safe. Amongst the tears and the ceaseless shaking, Mike felt her trembling lips curl into a half-smile amongst the sobs, and it wasn’t a dream anymore. She was home.

Joyce arrived shortly after, and was reunited with El, who was fondly reminded of the woman who comforted her. She supposed that maybe that was what a mother was supposed to feel like, but she had forgotten the sensation of being cared for and supported after a year of darkness. She cried again, although drained and not as motivated as when she saw Mike. Jonathan had come over too and was wary of scaring El, but did his best to help in any way he could. The other boys were woken up and greeted Eleven enthusiastically, scaring her somewhat despite how pleased she was to see them. Eleven recognised Will, and he could place her too, remembering her from a distant memory he previously hadn’t been able to access. Will hoped he could spend more time with her, and get to know her like the boys did. Everyone who was directly affected by that week (apart from maybe Steve Harrington) was piled into the Wheeler’s household to Ted and Karen’s confusion, as they were briefly caught up. There was time to mull over the details later, but for now, they had to care for her.

El wasn’t talking, so no one knew where she had been for a year or how she had gotten back – they could assume the worst, though. Even the more optimistic ones of the group like Mike were stumped at how she could have endured a whole year of that hellish world. No one much cared about technicalities, though, as they all worked to accommodate her arrival. Karen was worried sick about the girl freezing to death in the cold, and positioned a seat from the dining table in front of the warmth of the oven whilst Joyce tried to talk to her. Nancy looked on from the foot of the stairs at the saddening sight of her old dress on El’s scarily thin figure, now torn and completely unwearable, and raced up to her room to find a change of clothes. Mike grabbed some Eggos out of the freezer and Eleven quipped her eyebrow at the familiar shapes, hope radiating in her eyes for a brief second. Karen objected at first, saying her pancakes would be better for the girl, but Mike quickly rebuffed her suggestion. What El deserved – what El _needed_ – was familiarity. A reminder that she was home.

It was decided amongst the group that Nancy and Joyce would help El take a shower to wash some of the dirt coating her skin. Karen (who was finally getting to know the girl his son had hidden in the basement for a week) made a passing remark, giving Joyce the copious task of washing Eleven’s hair. And that was the elephant in the room.

No cold and dying dimension, or demogorgon, or even thessalhydra, could prepare anyone for the unruly wrath of Eleven's hair.

It began to brush against the back of her neck now, but the length wasn't at all what stunned them. Heaps, mounds, an abundance of muddy brown curls swirled around her head, weaving in and out and in between occasional highlights of mousy brown, venturing into dark, almost grey-brown, all spiralling in short little ringlets. It was an abrupt change from the clean-shaven head they had all remembered of her a year ago, and the Upside Down had turned it into a nest. There was no way she could have maintained it there, let alone with no experience at all, having had a shaven head her entire life up until now. Huge clumps were matted and singed, and small twigs or remnants of the Upside Down had travelled past the gate along with them. Joyce had her work cut out for her.

Half an hour later, the older woman was in the upstairs bathroom, leaning over the half-bath, half-shower with a cleaner El on her knees and a baby pink towel around her neck to prevent any water or shampoo going on the sweatshirt she had borrowed from Mike and the old pyjama pants from Nancy. Looking at the mess of watered down ringlets, the mousy brown colour now darker from the shower, Joyce took a deep breath, sent a silent prayer out to any God that listened, and apologised in advance to El as she squirted a generous amount of shampoo into her palm. Her hands got stuck a number of times as her fingers wove jaggedly between strands, lathering and repeating the process until the water that rinsed out of her tresses wasn’t some strange grey-brown. Then, with some conditioner slathered on and a few more apologies for hurting El, Joyce tried to ease some of the chocolate-coloured knots and tangles with a comb.

Emphasis on _tried._ The process was long and tiring for the both of them, as Joyce’s hands got tired from brushing and El’s neck strained from leaning over the bath. It dawned on Joyce then, with every knot and quiet snivel of pain from El, just _how much_ hair she had. Some clumps and tangles were practically baked into her hair, and so she would have to use a lot more force and time to get them out, hushing apologies and soothing things to the young girl as she protested weakly and shivered. Some still wouldn’t budge and Joyce had to pull hairs out, wondering if the knots would have lasted El through her whole adult life if she hadn’t. Finally – after almost two hours – they were done.

As the last of the conditioner was washed out, and El’s hair was given one final brush through, Joyce turned the girl around and raked her finger through the strands with no problems, scanning her face with maternal concern. El’s face was clean and dry now and presented a lot more colour than the grey-white tone Joyce had witnessed earlier, though she noted with guilt that the girl’s fair cheeks and nose were blushed and her hazel eyes were red and raw with silent crying. “Oh, honey…” she soothed again, and the calming tone of her voice had become a familiarity to El, like the refrain of a song. “It won’t always be that painful, I promise. Or that long.” She added as an afterthought and a slight chuckle, which El attempted and failed to match with a slight upward twitch of her lips.

Joyce sighed, getting teary-eyed at the sight of the girl who had helped her save her son; the girl who had been trapped for a year in the morbid dimension she had trekked through a year ago. It had been difficult for her to survive an hour or two; she couldn’t fathom what the young girl had endured. She was a miracle, and Joyce found herself repeating the words she had said too long ago. “You’re a very brave girl. You know that, don’t you?” And, just like they had last year, Eleven’s soft and broken eyes cast to the floor, stuck on the bathmat beneath them as Joyce spoke, her hands shifting from her hair to motherly stroking the sides of her face. “You are. I can’t imagine what you’ve been through, sweetheart. You’ve done so much for so many people,” her voice wavered as the young girl before her finally looked up, softly captivated by her words somehow. “And… honey, I can’t wait to give back to you, finally. I’m being honest. Anything you need… anything at all… just-” She paused with a sigh, trying to control her voice. “Just ask me, okay?”

El’s face twitched again, and she sniffled, feeling something she didn’t understand. She was confused by it, and couldn’t begin to describe this strange sensation which she had never felt before. Maybe one day, when she had finally settled herself into this life that she hoped would be, at last, permanent, she would ask Mike. Warmth radiated through her and calmed the anxiety felt over twelve months, as her breathing became drawn out and gentle. She hoped Joyce would be like a mother to her. Ever since November 1983, when the woman was stretching duct tape over plastic goggles in a classroom for her, she had felt an indescribable bond and unity in her presence – she’d felt that with everyone she had met that week, actually. Even Hopper, whose eyes cut deep along with a grumbling voice and his towering height, had been different to the daunting figure and cunning eyes of her Papa. There had been a sort of difference; a warm unfamiliarity she couldn’t place with everyone she had met that week – perhaps that was why she loved it so much. It was a complete contrast to the chill of the labs, white breezeblock buildings surrounding pain and hurt and commands and orders. This felt like home. And with a nod, and a slight smile as Joyce hummed and softly took El into her arms, she prayed it would be home.

“Come on, the boys are probably waiting for you.” She chuckled, standing up and taking El’s hand softly, not missing how her eyes widened and radiated with the mention of “the boys”. She chuckled and opened the bathroom door. “I didn’t expect your hair to take that long! Hopefully Karen will warm us up some of that hot chocolate she was making.”

The young girl rose an eyebrow. “Hot… chocolate?” The words sounded familiar – the last one in particular, as her mind travelled to Dustin plonking an array of brightly coloured wrappers and bars of candy on the table in the basement.

Joyce’s voice laughed softly and melodically again. “Yeah, hot chocolate. It’s a warm drink, very sweet. You’ll love it.” El was convinced.

Ten minutes later, she was cooped up at the Wheeler’s dining room table nursing a second mug of the drink she had decided she loved, the boys sitting with her and trying not to stare. They still couldn’t believe she was there, and now she appeared more alive and colourful, each of them examined her timidly. Will found himself relating to her, as she was around the same height as him – if not slightly taller – and hadn’t begun to shoot up like the other boys had. Lucas glanced at how she had grown into her face, and the sweatshirt she had borrowed from Mike last year didn’t fit as loose or extend past her hands anymore, although El still tugged the navy sleeves up to her thumbs for warmth. She did look incredibly frail, but the food she ate was starting to give her a little bit of life.

Mike found himself unable to stop looking at her, as if he was afraid she’d disappear if he cast his eyes away. Her eyelashes were incredibly long and fluttered with each blink, forming the most delicate shadow on her face as she cast her eyes downwards. Her button noise had a slight upward point, small and easy to trace with soft, smooth edges. Her eyebrows, although unkept, were thin and subtle, framing her face as her eyes, huge and warm in hazel hues shone below them. They still glanced around her surroundings, almost skittish, and he noticed how they repeatedly went towards the windows – perhaps she was afraid of something lurking outside. She also glanced at the doorway to the living room, where the adults and teens of the group were huddled, having what sounded to be a very serious conversation about what to do with the girl – at least, from what she could make out from the mumbles through the closed door. She didn’t want to use her powers – she didn’t need to. A part of her knew that to live the normal life she so desperately wanted, she’d have to dial down on them anyway.

Her ivory skin was surprisingly soft and healthy considering where she’d been hiding, save a few jagged scrapes and scars that Mike didn’t want to think about. Dwelling on the pain she had felt – no matter how small – would drive him insane. What mattered was that she was there.

The raven-haired boy felt a thwack on his arm and turned with great annoyance to Lucas, who had clearly caught him staring and raised an eyebrow, as if to say “ _Really? Again?”_

Before Mike had the opportunity to protest, Dustin – always the most forward of the group – finally spoke up, startling El slightly. “Dude, your hair…!”

The boys all gave him a glare as they watched the girl’s eyes become alert and confused, but to their surprise, El found herself answering. They had only heard her speak a few words that day – much like last year, she said very little, and they were shocked she even had the ability to say anything after a year of being alone. The things she saw in that place might have stunned her to silence, they assumed with a shudder. Still, raising a thin hand to swim timidly in her drying hair, she stuttered out a response. “Yes… my hair…? Uh… bigger now.” Seeing everyone’s eyes on her, her mouth twitched nervously. She spoke with more clarity. “More annoying.”

They chuckled softly, warmth resonating through each giggled tone, and El knew she had done a good job. She felt a little more relaxed. Dustin boomed again, still startling her somewhat. “Yeah, you were in the bathroom for like ten million hours! Everyone always says girls take longer in the bathroom, but I never thought- ow!” His slightly ignorant comment was silenced by a slap on the arm from Lucas.

The girl was seemingly unfazed, and formulated a response. “Joyce was… pulling. Getting muck and twigs out. Hurt.”

“Yeah, mom hasn’t always been a hairdresser exactly. I remember when I got head lice in the third grade… disaster!” The smallest boy of the group spoke up and chuckled, earning smiles from the rest of the group. Eleven’s eyes cast on him, and her intuition told her he was trying his best to be casual; to make her comfortable. She thanked him silently, raising the corners of her lips into a slight smile. Will looked at her as if they had some sort of connection, and he got the message, beaming. The girl felt something slightly different with him, though it wasn’t at all like how she felt different with Mike. She felt herself relating to him; sharing a bond – after all, they had both experienced the horrors of the Upside Down. Perhaps, with time, he could understand her.

“But your hair looks awesome!” Dustin gushed again, trying as well to bring brightness to El in a more abrupt way. “It kind of even looks like mine… which is probably why it looks so awesome.” He smirked.

“Seriously, Dustin? Get your head out of your ass.” Mike scoffed as the other boys rolled their eyes.

But he wasn’t finished, and in his slightly stubborn comedic sense, decided he wasn’t going to stop until they all noticed the similarity. “Oh, come on, guys! _Mine’s_ brown and curly, _El’s_ is brown and curly… I thought you were the smart kids of our grade!” Dustin gestured wildly between him and El, though she had familiarised herself with his loud personality, and was looking at him enthralled by what would come out of his mouth next. “I- Look!” He punctuated his point by standing up from the dining room table, his chair skidding against the floor as he stomped proudly over to El, slipping his red, white and blue cap off his own mound of hair and placing it delicately on hers. “See? We’re long-lost siblings!”

El grinned nervously, and the other boys laughed. The resemblance was uncanny – and Dustin didn’t take off that damn hat for just anybody. Dustin continued. “It fits perfectly, too!”

“Yeah, right – El’s head could never be as gigantic as yours, dumbass.” Lucas grumbled with a smirk, causing more laughs amongst the group. El felt herself cracking at the sight of everyone else, and let out a giggle of her own.

That was the first time anyone had ever seen her laugh – a real, genuine laugh – and after a year of darkness, loss and longing for a time like this, the sound seemed almost saint-like.

**Author's Note:**

> i hope you enjoyed the first chapter! sorry for any mistakes.
> 
> in all honesty, i haven't written up any following chapters yet and i'm still finalising all my ideas for this story, and i'm going back to hell (school) for another six weeks tomorrow so i don't know when i'll next have a chance to post. the chapters following this one won't be as lengthy, though, so hopefully it won't take too long in between posting. if you're stuck waiting, feel free to read 'this night has opened my eyes', which is set a couple of months after this chapter!
> 
> as always, feedback like kudos and comments is always welcome. i'd love to know what you all think of this so far, and what you want to happen in this story. until next time!


End file.
